Yes, even a good natured, moral, upstanding, outstanding mother of three can have those moments where she simply has to write things out that perhaps she'd rather be physically experiencing...and when I do I tend to make myself giggle too much in public so I tend to write closer to home on those days. That didn't happen yesterday.
Last night my good friend and I were at Starbucks when she decided to tell me some of the more intimate things that she and her husband have been trying. They've been married too long (her words) and they were just about to end everything when she thought maybe sex would be the magical key to unlock the doors that have long been closed off for the two of them. Naturally, or perhaps not so naturally, I was the one she chose to engage in conversation about it because she felt that she had to tell someone and maybe get an suggestion....or two, or three...I'm always up for a good suggestion. I just don't seem to have the man in my life to do the experimentation (dammit).
This is my freelance, free-writing, English-teaching friend that I call my other Pyrate. We get together every once in a while and force her chef husband to make whatever we want, we treat him like crap and believe it or not, he loves it. We smoke cigars, drink straight rum from the bottle and play Nickelback, Creed, Tom Petty, something harder than Bee Gees, and we throw caution and the skull and bones to the wind. Even our flag was pirated - it fell out of the back of a truck once when we were following a team bus with the Pirate mascot - gotta keep that. We fly it when we can, we eat well, write out things NO ONE should read, but we try our best to do so out loud and the first one to laugh has to drink from the other girl's bottle, backwash and all. (I never said we were decent during these nights, in fact, we get kinda nasty trying to out do the other. Which, if you're into linguistics and you both have your Masters in the English language, can be a feat!)
There we were, sitting in Starbucks, when quite like a scene from "When Harry Met Sally", my Niki starts telling me things I don't really think I want to imagine happening between she and her Bostonian wharf man chef of a husband. Please...make it stop! She went on, and she wouldn't lower the volume. It was as if she were literally calling me out to one-up her, but she knew I wouldn't, actually couldn't, I'm working on my 9th year of celibacy (dammit) and the only thing I have going for me is my pen...that didn't come out correctly, did it? OK...what I mean is, I have the written word; and I NEVER back out of a dare or challenge. She sat still, very still, and the smile of a seasoned sea-dog crept across her face as her eyes lowered and her wink was unmistakable.
Fine! Over the next three minutes or so the two of us scribbled and drew out words using a method of free writing where anything and everything must be written down. You can't hold anything in your head, everything must be put on paper. After our alloted time we swapped notebooks and began writing out whatever freakish sexual fantasies we could come up with using the other girl's words, and of course we often remember our own, interacting and exchanging them for what will become our weapon of words to use against one another in a war that can only be won by silence. (Just so you know, we are allowed to bite our cheeks in order to stop the laugh. I've actually stuffed a credit card in my mouth at one time, but the smoke and embers came blowing out the sides of my mouth when things got too hot - and I lost.
I did NOT lose this time. When I was finished she and Eric had NOTHING on Gary and I. (poor man, he really has no idea how talented he is in my mind) I couldn't stop writing and even with my grace period of an extra two minutes she wouldn't stop me from finishing everything that was both probably in my head as well as my blood, but since I have this particular unwanted restriction on myself, I really can't offer up more than the pen can explain...but as we know, the pen is so much more mightier than the sword, or in this case - reality sex. I would love to write out for you what my good friend read last night at Starbucks - - it would help you perhaps to understand both my frustration of not having a man, and not having a good publisher. I would be sooooo freakin' rich if I would just sit down and finish the book on erotica that lingers in my head most of the day, but alas I am bound.
The deed done, the reward given, Niki's shriek was clearly enough to crown me writing queen for the night...and she had to gulp down part of a quad shot espresso with half and half while I thought of what I wrote, and an another taste all together. Maybe I'll just change my name and write a little harder than expected of a sweet, well mannered woman who travels the world with a dog and a smile.